


The Breakfast Incident

by writeranthea



Category: 17th Century CE RPF, Historical RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bad Parenting, Canon-Typical Behavior, Childhood, Corporal Punishment, Family Feels, Father-Son Relationship, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, Historical Accuracy, Mother-Son Relationship, Past Child Death, Temper Tantrums
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2020-10-05 13:54:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20489957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writeranthea/pseuds/writeranthea
Summary: "A year later [1694] the exasperated governess threatened the young prince, who had once again turned his stubborn head out, with the withdrawal of his favourite breakfast. Friedrich Wilhelm jumped up from his chair, ran over to the window, opened it, climbed out onto the windowsill and wildly explained that he would jump from the third floor of the palace if he would not get his breakfast right away."An incident from Friedrich Wilhelm's childhood that I came across while researching for a seminar paper about him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I posted this story on AO3. If you see it on any other website or platform, please consider that I did not consent to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to stay as historically accurate as possible, from the way that Sophie Charlotte often spoke French with her son to the way that Friedrich Wilhelm played in the gardens (I used reports from contemporary witnesses, that's how motivated I was). This got a bit out of hand as went I deeper into his childhood that I would've needed to but oh well - I decided to split it into two chapters just so it's more comfortable to read :-) And because I feel the need to say this: I do _not_ want to excuse the behaviour that made Friedrich Wilhelm notorious but he, too, was once a child and I believe that he would've turned out differently if his parents would've really cared about him and his behaviour. 
> 
> Not betaed, all mistakes are mine.

“Settle down this instant, Your Grace.” Five-year-old Friedrich Wilhelm huffed as he crossed his arms in front of his chest and kicked his legs into the air with a bit more vigor, both unmistakable and childish gestures of defiance, at the stern but yet gentle scolding he received of his governess, Madame de Montbail. It was not fair, he must have been sitting on the chair for an eternity already and all he wanted to do was eat his breakfast so that he was allowed to leave his mother’s appartment for the pleasance instead! Protocol explicitly required that _His Grace the young prince of Brandenburg-Prussia ought not start his studies nor his play without a hearthy breakfast, served in the apartment of Her Royal Grace the Duchess of Prussia_, but as it seemed that Friedrich Wilhelm was forced to wait for his meal to be served longer than he usually was to. He huffed again, his arms still crossed and his legs still kicking, and shot quite the dark glare at the governess, who had busied herself with fixing a loose strand of her pinned-up hairdo in a small mirror. It was widely known at court that the Huguenot, banished from her home in France on the order of Louis XIV, watched over the electoral prince in gentle manner that surpassed those of many other governesses, caring for most lovingly - it was also known, however, that the young prince was anything but compliant with her. Many talked about Friedrich Wilhelm behind their hands and fans, about the [particulary charming boy with ginger-colored curls and a healthy complexion](https://de.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Friedrich_Wilhelm_I._\(Preu%C3%9Fen\)#/media/Datei%3AFriedrich_Wilhelm_I_um_1701.jpg), latter in a stark contrast to his always sickly father, Friedrich III, the Elector of Brandenburg and Duke of Prussia. The voices of the courtiers were nearly constantly talking about the future successor to the Brandenburgian throne, a boy that was being spoiled and coddled instead of properly raised by his parents and who, despite having being quite young, already got his will in regards to everything, who never hesitated to hit his playfellows if they dared to not comply to his orders and who much rather spend his time in the dirt than surrounded by the perfumed air in the salon. 

Friedrich Wilhelm was considered a child of a through and through special nature by nearly everyone but his own mother. “How much longer,” the young prince whined, uncrossing his arms to squeeze his hands between his thighs and the seat of the chair, pushing out his bottom lip as he tried to look at Madame de Montbail with the doe-like eyes that always worked on his nanny and mother alike. The governess, albeit gentle, however, was utterly unimpressed by them. “There are still more than three minutes left until it is time for breakfast to be served, Your Grace,” she spoke, “and I ask you again: settle down. Stop kicking your legs and straighten your back.” Her voice had never lost the silky softness, firm at the same time, that told of how much she adored the child, no matter how much he would challenge her every day anew. “No, I won’t!”, Friedrich Wilhelm shouted with quite a nasty tone underlying his soft, childish voice, pulling his hands out from underneath him to clench them into fists, moving to sit on the edge of the chair as if he wanted to jump onto his feet. Madame de Monbail closed her eyes for a second and reminded herself, in the silence of her mind, to stay calm and quiet, already feeling a headache creeping up on her at the prospect of the prince being extraordinary difficult for the rest of the day that had barely began. “I want to go outside and play! Now!” Friedrich Wilhelm’s voice ecchoed through the room as the large, double winged doors were opened and an entire horde of servants pushing serving tolleys entered - the prince’s mother, duchess Sophie Charlotte, follwing behind them. “_Mon petit_,” she exclaimed happily, holding her hands to her chest in a gesture that was supposed to tell everyone how proud she was of her only child, who was still glaring and showing a childish pout while his small chubby hands were clenched at his sides. “Your Grace,” the governess hurried to greet the duchess, ruffling up her dress as Sophie Charlotte acknowledged her with a simple nod. While the servants were hustling and bustling about to ready the table, spreading out an expensive-looking table cloth before setting the plates and cutlery, the duchess, herself followed by a few members of her loyal entourage, walked over towards her son. “_Bonjour mon amour. Êtes-vous bon?_” Friedrich Wilhelm nodded, despite still being mad. “I want to go in the garden and play but -” “You must eat beforehand, yes,” Sophie Charlotte laughed, taking her son’s face into her hands to kiss his round cheeks, a gesture that was commented with elated squeals from the fanning women behind her.

Visits like this one were the only time that mother and son would see each other before the duchess would come and visit Friedrich Wilhelm shortly before the governess would bring him into bed, and the young prince grew even more irritated when his mother was gone almost as soon as she had appeared after having kissed his cheek one more time and reminding him to be good. He knew that she was spending her days in the salon, playing cards and doing other things that bored Friedrich Wilhelm, and his wish that she would join him in his play in the pleasance was, as the child knew, a futile one. And he would rather play by himself than with this stupid boys that refused to follow his orders! He hated them even more than he detested the air in the salon, which was always thick with the smell perfume and made him sick every time.

Friedrich Wilhelm’s eyes, however, lit up when he saw what one of the manservants had placed on the table in front of him - one of those baked treats with a glazed half of an apple in the middle of it. His favorite! Eating before being allowed to play outside suddenly did not appear to be that bad of a duty leastways, but his hand was slapped away when he reached out and attempted to take it off the plate. The slap had not hurt, of course it did not, Madame de Monbail would never truly hit him, he was aware of that, but it was enough to ignite the flame of anger that had been lingering in the pit of his stomach, and he tried to reach it again, with narrowed eyes and a small growl that time, not willing to wait any longer despite the fact that the table was not yet fully set. He fell back into his chair, however, and stared at his governess with wide eyes as she simply took his plate away, her lips pressed into a thin line. “Your Grace will not be allowed to have it for breakfast if Your Grace will not learn to behave himself this instant.” She gifted him with one of her more stern looks as she sat the plate down farther down the table before reaching for the jug of milk to prepare a glass of milk for the child. The governess almost lost her grip she had on the porcelain handle when Friedrich Wilhelm let out a yell that frightened her as much as it did the still working manservants, who froze in motion to look at their future duke with mixed expressions for a moment. “You can’t to that, do you hear me!”, he yelled, his face having gone from a healthy shade to an unhealthy red in what had to be a second. Madame de Monbail had seen him angry before, but not to such an extend. “I am... I am...” “Do calm yourself, Your Grace,” the governess tried, reaching out a hand as she moved around the table with a slowness that was somewhat ridiculous as she was approaching a five-year-old, not a wild animal. Friedrich Wilhelm’s face gained even more color, if it was still possible, as he jumped from the chair that he was sitting in; he stood on the spot for no more than a second, his small fists that hung at his side clenched enough for his tiny knuckles to stand out, and though everyone in the room was watching him, none of them said anything as he ran over to window. Thanks to the low chest of drawers that stood underneath it and on which he climbed on, he managed to open one wing of the window without any trouble, and it was only when the first of his feet had planted itself on the windowsill that Friedrich Wilhelm could make out the first reaction from the adults behind him - a shrill cry for help from Madame de Monbail.

The governess’ face was a stark white as she stood, heavily leaned against the table with one while having pressed the other hand over her mouth as she stared at the young prince, who, by then, fully stood out on the windowsill. The servants were just as much frozen to the spot as the governess was, and the woman felt her knees almost giving out when Friedrich Wilhelm turned on the spot, his back turned towards her. Sophie Charlotte’s apartments were located on the third floor of the palace, but the child was filled with so much confusing anger that he paid the ground so many meters below him no mind. “I _will_ jump! I will unless you give me back my breakfast! You are supposed to obey me! _Me!_” Whether seconds or minutes passed that he spend standing out there on the window sill, Friedrich Wilhelm did not know, but when he heard a second woman crying out, even louder and more terrified than the first cry had been, and was about to turn around, two strong arms wrapped themselves around his middle from behind and pulled him back into the room with a rough tug. “No!” He flailed his arms around as he kicked his legs and yelled as he was carried, both due to the anger as well as a growing confusion about said anger, though falling silent and almost limp when the guard, who had taken it onto him to hinder the future duke from a fall to what would have been the child’s certain death, dropped him in front of his mother rather unceremoniously and without a single word. The entire room seemed to be frozen and Sophie Charlotte was an almost perfect mirror to Madame de Monbail. The duchess was pale-faced and shaking where she was being held upright by two female courtiers, but other than the governess’ eyes, hers were swimming with tears. She had not even made it to the main staircase before she had been alarmed by the cry from her son’s governess - and oh, how her heart had almost stopped beating in her chest when she had spotted her only child, her beloved Fritz, standing on the windowsill. “Your Grace must try and calm her breathing,” one of the women from the entourage exclaimed worriedly as she fanned air into Sophie Charlotte’s face, the duchess trying to regain control of her legs again. What had gotten into her sweet boy?

Friedrich Wilhelm’s chin began to tremble when his anger suddenly drained from him as if a plug had been pulled, and his eyes grew wide as he gasped, both very much childlike, when he saw how her mother was looking at him. “_Maman..._” Sophie Charlotte drew in a raspy intake of breath as she managed to stand on her feet without help, dabbing at her eyes with the handkerchief that she had been offered twice before passing it back to the courtier it belonged to. She knew that she would never be able to forget the picture of her little Fritz standing out there, so terrifyingly close to plummeting to his death, knew that she would very well be haunted by the images in his sleep - she never would have dreamed of seeing him act as if the devil had used his small body as his vessel. The way he had screamed and lashed out; it was frightening to see a child, _her_ child, _her Fritz_, behaving like that. She had heard, of course she had, that he was far from an easy child, had witnessed how he had beaten up his cousin and other playmates... and as she looked down at her then calm son, who himself looked up at her with wide eyes, Sophie Charlotte felt a wave of shame washing over her. She had failed as a mother, had failed to see that her son was moving along the wrong path. She loved Friedrich Wilhelm with an amount of love that otherwise would have been reserved for multiple children and had believed that she was doing the right thing by letting him be who he appeared to be. The servants around them picked their work back up after the duchess had snapped her fingers, and Friedrich Wilhelm felt incredibly small as he continued to stand amidst it all. _No more._ There were still tears on his mother’s face as she reached out and laid a hand onto his shoulder, wanting to pull him into an embrace, and her arched brows pulled together when he resisted by winding out of her touch. “No!”, he sobbed, unaware of what a pitiful sight his trembling body was, and another sob escaped him when he saw that Madam de Monbail neared in on his mother to whisper something into her ear that caused the crease between Sophie Charlotte’s brows to deepen. His anger was back by then, almost like a saving railing that he could hold onto and he ran without even thinking where to go; out of the dining hall and along the corridor, ran as fast as his short legs only allowed him to. It was no surprise that there was soon an entire array of footsteps hurrying behind him, and when Friedrich Wilhelm turned his head to look how close his pursuer were to him, he made the mistake of running blindly for too long.

He crashed against the tall marble plinth and landed on his backside with a strangled gasp, watching with eyes wide from fear how the plinth swayed dangerously, a sob catching in his throat when the vase that stood on top of the plinth fell off and broke into a thousand shards on the floor. The footsteps that had followed him reached him soon after, unknown fear closing around the child’s heart when his arm was grabbed rather roughly to pull him onto his feet. “No,” he whined as he tried to free his arm from his mother’s hold, wriggling around like a piglet, but failing miserably. A relatively large group of people had came together in the corridor as well, watching in heavy silence how Sophie Charlotte tried to gain a more secure hold on her unpredictable son. “_Arrête ça_ -” “No!” The young prince yelled, anger returning to his voice as his struggle to free himself intensified and a gasp went through the rows as he began to drum his fists against his mother’s chest, quite hard for a child of his age. “No! No! No! Let me go you - you oaf!” “That is _it_!” Sophie Charlotte shook her son as she got down on onto one knee, not caring that she could very well ruin the dress she was wearing in the process, and downright threw the still kicking and hitting Friedrich Wilhelm over her thigh. He continued his kicking, confused by the position that he found himself in and despite having never been in a position like that before, he knew, almost instinctively, what was coming when Sophie Charlotte’s fingers hooked underneath the waistband of his breeches and undergarnments and tugged both pieces of clothing down until his backside was exposed. “No -” The duchess did not say anything further, her tongue paralyzed from her own anger, and merely held onto her son’s squirming hips as she raised her right hand well abover her head and brought it down a lot harder than she probably would have done it at a different occasion. Friedrich Wilhelm was already openly sobbing after he had received the first hit onto his bared backside, the steadily increasing pain overwhelming him just as much as the courtiers’ chuckles and whispers were. No one would have dared to voice it out aloud, especially not Madame de Monbail, but it was satisfying to see that the unruly prince finally got the punishment he deserved to get.

“_Je suis très déçu de vous_, Fritz.” Friedrich Wilhelm tried to twist his way off his mother’s lap, sobbing as he flailed his arms and kicked his legs, his trousers having since slipped down to hunch around his ankles. “_Maman_,” he sobbed and cried, “_Maman_ no!”, and he was close to the point of hysteria when Sophie Charlotte stopped the assault of his backside and gathered him into her arms, cradling his head to her chest. She had not spanked him long, had not hit him more than ten times, but she knew that for her beloved son it must have seemed like an eternity. “You have frightened me so greatly,” she whispered into Friedrich Wilhelm’s curls, hasting one kiss after another onto his head while he ran a hand over his trembling back once she had pulled his britches back up, but this sobs yet had to ebb down, so as if he had not realized that his mother was no longer hitting him. “_Calme-toi mon amour_, I love you.” Her chest clenched painfully when her son did nothing but sob on, his small body trembling in her arms. Sophie Charlotte kept her arms firmly wrapped out the most precious thing of her life as she raised back onto her feet, dismissing her entourage as well as the governess with a single shake of her head before she hurried through the corridor en route for her private rooms. Friedrich Wilhelm had since wrapped his arms around his mother’s neck and his legs around her waist as he cried into the fabric of her dress, his backside was hurting terribly and another sob build up in his chest when he remembered her words. _I am very disappointed with you_. “_M-Maman_...” She had to bite her lip when she heard her son’s whimper, her heart almost breaking where it had teared from Friedrich Wilhelm’s prior cries of her name. It had never been her wish to hit him; when they had first held their newborn son she and her husband, Friedrich, had, for them, decided that they ought to never hurt their precious only child and heir. And now she had spanked him, had bared his little backside in front of witnesses, had put him over her knee and had colored his skin in a bright red, causing him to cry out in pain. Oh, she had never wished for a moment where she would be forced to raise her hand in front of him. There were new tears making their way down Sophie Charlotte’s face when she closed the door of her private bedroom behind her and moved to sit on the edge of the bed.

“Can you look at me, _mon petit?_” Friedrich Wilhelm sniffled quite pitifully, shaking his head in a silent no as he kept his face hidden in his mother’s dress. He could hear her sighing, and he blinked hard when Sophie Charlotte slipped a hand between them to take his chin and used that hold she had to made him look up at her with a genle force. What a heartwrenching picture it was, her beloved son’s face blushed and tear-streaked, his eyes red from crying and his eyelashes sticking together from the salty tears. She clicked her tongue, softly so, and wiped at his face with her free hand. “You cannot imagine how scared I have been when I saw you out on the window ledge, _mon cœr_.” Friedrich Wilhelm, in a manner that tore at the strings of Sophie Charlotte’s heart, sucked his bottom lip into his mouth as he looked up at her with wide, shining eyes and clenched the fabric of her dress in his tiny fists. “I am very disappointed with you, Fritz.” She let go of his face and his chin immediately sank down onto his chest as his eyes filled with burning tears all over again. “I will have to tell your father about what you did, and I am certain that he will come and see you later.” He pulled up his nose, “I-Is Papá going to be mad?”, he asked, his voice barely above a whisper and so different from his anger-filled screams. This was her son, her beloved Fritz that was sitting in her lap, not the demon that had almost caused her to drop dead as he threatened to jump out of the window. She never wanted to see that side of him again if she could help it. “He will certainly be so, yes.” Sophie Charlotte knew how much her son strived to stand in his father’s favor, to make him proud - be it in his lessons or when Friedrich Wilhelm would share the impressive military knowledge that he had for his age, but she also knew how great of a struggle her husband was facing when it came to form a relationship with his son. Friedrich Wilhelm threw himself around his his mother’s neck, sobbing a heartbreaking “I’m sorry, _Maman_,” while hiding his face in the crook of Sophie Charlotte’s neck. He had not... He had not meant to disappoint his parents. “_Je sais que tu es désolé_,” the duchess spoke, gently rocking her crying child, sensing that his tears had not only been caused by the hits he had received to his well-deserving backside. “_Pouvez-vous me regardez, s'il vous plaît?_” Friedrich Wilhelm involuntarily flinched when his mother’s hands formed a seat underneath his bottom, which yet had to stop throbbing, but obeyed and lifted his tear-streaked face. “Why did you feel the need to frighten me so?”

Sophie Charlotte tried to keep the tone of gentle sterness in her voice even if she would have favored peppering his face with kisses and praising him as her good little boy like she did it most of the time instead - because he had been anything but her good little Fritz. His protruding bottom lip was trembling and his tear-filled, doe-like eyes looked up at her in the most vulnerable way, making it impossible for her to not lean forward and kiss his forehead after she had voiced her question. “I...” Friedrich Wilhelm’s breathing was hitching more regularly by then, he had tired himself out with his temper tantrum and crying. “I didn’t mean to, _Maman_,” he managed to bring out after a few good moments of rubbing his eyes with the back of his small fists and between two sobs. “_Je suis désolé Maman_.” Sophie Dorothea would have failed to hide the smile that was growing on her face even if she would have tried to, her son rarely ever switched into French as indifferent to her and her husband he did not seem to favor the world of salons as much as he enjoyed the outside. “I know that you are sorry, _mon cœr_,” she took Friedrich Wilhelm’s face into both of her hands, using her thumbs to wipe at the wetness on his cheeks, “but if you continue to behave in that way, if you continue rage in front of me and hit me or anyone else I hereby promise that I will not hesitate to lay you over my lap for a punishment.” The boy’s hands almost flew to his bottom as if he needed to protect it from imminent danger and another swell of tears threatened to spill from his eyes as his childish mind was beginning to catch up with the prospect of what his mother had meant. “How you behaved is not how the future Duke of Prussia is supposed to behave, Fritz. Do you understand, _mon petit_? It is not in my favour to cause you pain, but I will spank you from now on if you are disobedient and rude.” It was an endearing sight, really, the way her little Fritz kept his hands behind his back as he looked up at her with a those big, blue eyes, though there was something more behind his gaze. “W-Will you s-spank me e-every day?” Friedrich Wilhelm’s voice was unsteady and cracked, a clear indication to the yelling and sobbing he had done, and Sophie Charlotte hurried to enclose him in her arms again. How could she have missed that he, no matter how he was seen by her, her husband and other adults, was deep down a sensitive child? One that was different from other children of his age, yes, one that preferred muddy puddles over books and played with the wooden soldiers in his father’s study for hours on end rather than with his cousins. Sophie Charlotte would not lie - she would have been happy with a son that would grow up to enjoy her world of art, music and languages and she could have slapped herself for having taken so long to see that he was... just her Fritz.

“_Non_, _mon petit_,” she said as she kissed the wild, ginger-colored curls on top of his head. “I will solely do so if there is a need for me to punish you. _Comprenez-vous?_” “_Oui Maman_,” Friedrich Wilhelm spoke against the skin of her neck, sniffling as his mother kissed him yet again. “Be assured that I will take the reports I get from Madame the Monbail and your teachers into consideration. Madame the Monbail was almost as scared as I was when you climbed out of the window!” “I’m sorry -” “And I accept your apology, my love,” she answered, repeating herself for what had to be the dozendth time that morning but to her, it did not matter. Her son obviously needed to hear it, so she would tell him again. “Oh my son, what am I to do with you?”, Sophie Charlotte muttered, stroking his hair. Friedrich Wilhelm shifted in her lap and loosened his arms from around her neck to play with the fabric of her dress, looking very much sorry and obedient and the duchess doubted that she had ever seen her son as much at peace as he seemed to be now before. “_Maman?_” “_Oui_, _mon amour_?” “I’m hungry,” came the almost abashed confession from the boy in her lap, and Sophie Charlotte made an agreeing sound, “It is what I thought, _mon petit_. You did not get to enjoy your breakfast before you demanded my attention.” When Friedrich Wilhelm pouted, his doe-like eyes still wide and pleading, she could not do but laugh. She drew him into her arms, against her chest and peppered one of his chubby cheeks with kisses as she stood and twirled them both around. “I am sure that you will lead the most glorious wars Prussia will ever see,” she said with a pretentious reverent tone which had made her son laugh many times before, and it did not fail to make him laugh then. The sound of Friedrich Wilhelm’s laughter rang in Sophie Charlotte’s ears like the bells of heaven themselves, and he giggled as she continued to kiss his cheeks. “_Mon petit général_.” The young boy giggled something that his mother did not understand, and she stilled her turning motion to hold him still, his legs wrapped around her middle as he sat on the seat that her hands had formed underneath his backside. “I am sorry, Fritz, my hearing must be getting bad. Would you please repeat what you just said?”

Friedrich Wilhelm’s eyes had regained their mischievous glimmer and the wide smile on his face was boyish and sincere in a way that only a child’s smile could be - both helped to dimish the feeling of guilt of having hit her son that still had a hold on her heart. “I need a horse.” She huffed as she put him down for the boy to stand on the bed, he was a bit too heavy to carry him comfortably for an extended amount of time. “What reason do you need a horse for?” “Every general has a horse, _Maman_!”, he exclaimed and clapped his hands, so as if it was a surprise that his mother was not aware of it already, “_Papá_ told me so just yesterday, he did!” “Did he now?” Sophie Charlotte laughed as her son jumped up and down on the bed, holding his hands to assure that he would not accidentally fall off in his childish high spirits. “Yes! Yes yes yes, _Maman_! I need a horse! A horse! A horse!” She shook her head as she watched him, finding herself marveling at how fast the tears had disappeared from his eyes and had been replaced with the glimmer that every child’s eyes should have. The longer Sophie Charlotte watched him, however, the bigger the fear that her son’s behaviour had been caused by far more than just a simple fit of rage grew. She knew that her son was not an easy child as well as she knew about the wicked tongues that were already calling him a problem, a curse in regards to Prussia’s future and a demonic child that one could not talk to without being hit by his fists or targeted with one of his almost daily temper tantrums. She was aware that she was coddling and spoiling him... but Friedrich Wilhelm was the only one of the four children that she had given birth to not not have been born without a heartbeat or die in nursery. Her son was the only thing she had beside her husband and she had to swallow hard at the thought of Friedrich Wilhelm growing up to be a raging and unpleasant man, one that would resemble the raging individual that had threatened to throw itself out of the window more than it would her laughing, bouncing Fritz. She swore to God that if she could prevent it by taking him over her knee every day, she would do it without an ounce of hesitation, no matter how much it pained her. Sophie Charlotte was pulled from her thoughts when Friedrich Wilhelm jumped into her not expecing arms again, a bit of air being knocked out of her lungs from the force of him doing so. “And? And?” She laughed and ruffled-up his already disheveled curls, “I will discuss it with your father_, mon petit général_.” Friedrich Wilhelm let out another squeal of joy and did not put up a struggle when she sat him down onto the bed. “Now be good and wait here, I will get you something for breakfast.” “_Oui Maman_.”

“Be good and stay put until I will be back, _peux-tu faire ça pour moi?_” Sophie Charlotte bend down to kiss his forehead after he had nodded, his curls bouncing. Friedrich Wilhelm went back to kick his legs as she watched how his mother passed through the room and out of the door. His backside was still smarting yes, but he, all in all, felt better in a way that he could not really put his finger on. Forgotten were his indescribable anger about not being allowed to go outside and when the throbbing in his backside reminded him of what had happened, that his mother had bared his bottom in front of what very well could have been half of her court, he felt heat rising into his face. It had hurt! It had really, really hurt! The sudden burn in his eyes forced him to blink hard and fast a couple of times - he had disappointed his mother and once _Maman_ would go to _Papá_ and tell him what he had done _Papá_ will be disappointed in him, too. Friedrich Wilhelm wiped at his nose with the back of his hands as he kicked his little legs with a bit more vigor into the air, his mother had never... spanked him before, no matter how many times he had screamed and hit. She had never came back from the salon once she was on her route to it, it always were his governess or teachers that tried to punish him by making him write lines but once he would treaten them with his small, balled fist, those lines would be forgotten as well. His legs were still kicking, though then with less strength once more as he remembered his mother’s words. _“I know that you are sorry, mon cœr, but if you continue to behave in that way, if you continue rage in front of me and hit me or anyone else I hereby promise that I will not hesitate take lay over my lap for a punishment.”_ He swallowed when the prospect of being... punished like that again build up in front of him like a threatening monster - he did not want to be hurt again and why was _Maman_ allowed to hit him but _he_ was not allowed to hit his annoying cousins or teachers? The young boy wrapped his arms around himself as he continued to sit on the edge of the bed, kicking his legs while his stomach grumbled, though he was not forced to linger alone for long and his eyes lit back up when the door of his mother’s bedroom was opened. “_Maman_!”

Sophie Charlotte had not been able to lose her smile on the way to and from the dining hall, and it grew even bigger when she saw that her son had obeyed her order and had indeed stayed in the position that she had left him in. “_Mon petit_,” she greeted him and, after nodding to the guard that had opened the door for her to close it again, walked over to her son and sat down on the bed beside him. The duchess chuckled at the way Friedrich Wilhelm’s eyes seemed to be glued to the baked treat that she carried on a plate, “I have been told that it is your favorite,” she said, gesturing for her son to take the plate from her. Friedrich Wilhelm felt a warmth filling his chest that he, with his five years of age, could not define, and said feeling continued to be there when he took the plate and her mother’s hand went straight to his curls. “Eat, _mon petit général_.” Sophie Charlotte played with her son’s hair as she watched him eat - she still wondered, sometimes, where the color came from, as neither she nor her husband had hair of such an exceptional hue. “_Maman_?”, Friedrich Wilhelm pulled her out of her musing by asking for her attention between two hungry bites from the baked treat. “Yes, _mon petit_?” “Am I still allowed to go outside and play?” “The other children are playing in the salon, _mon cœr_. Do you not want to join them?” “No, _Maman_.” Something behind Sophie Charlotte’s smile changed, but her son was far too preoccupied with his breakfast to notice it. Out of all the things that she knew about her Fritz and which worried her, what worried her the most was the way he would spend hours playing without a playfellow. She sighed as silently as he could before she spoke, “Why not, my love?” Friedrich Wilhelm shrugged and looked at the treat he was eating, “They don’t like me and... I don’t like them either.” Instead of answering verbally Sophie Dorothea passed her son the cup of milk she had brought for him, too, and Friedrich Wilhelm put the treat down onto the plate and the plate on the bed beside him to take the cup into both of his hands. Something in her chest clenched when she watched him, he looked even younger than his already young age when he was drinking from his cup and lightly kicking his legs in the way that he was doing it. She had failed as a mother until then - but she would give her all to fix her past mistakes as good as possible. Friedrich Wilhelm emptied the cup before he gave it back, frowning a bit when his mother laughed as he looked up at her, his frown disappearing, though, when Sophie Dorothea wiped at his upper lip where a bit of milk had collected. “_Êtes-vous complet?_” “_Oui Maman_.” “You may go outside and play then, _mon petit général_.” The boy did not need to be told twice before he jumped off the bed and bolted out of the door, his mother continuing to sit on the bed for a while longer as a servant carried the used dishes away.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And chapter two! :-)
> 
> Not betaed, all mistakes are mine.

While his mother had seeked enjoyment in the salon, Friedrich Wilhelm had retreated into the kitchen garden of the palace as soon as he had been outside. The pleasance usually served his wishes well enough; the young prince would spend hours sneaking behind and between the tall hedges by himself, trying to explore the most hidden corners that the courtiers never went to while avoiding his governess and other adults at the same time. He would wander around until his shoes, socks and britches and most of the times even his blouse were covered in mud and dirt trying to find hedgehogs. One time he had been lucky enough to find a whole hedgehog family! But as of then the pleasance was buzzing with the amount of courtiers that were strolling in it and enjoying the late summer’s pleasing forenoon, Friedrich Wilhelm had chosen the kitchen gardens. The artificial moats, which had been build to water the fruit and vegetables, had been ideal for the boy’s game of building his imaginary worlds out of the clean mud. So Friedrich Wilhelm had done no more than pushing up the sleeves of his blouse and looking around whether or not his governess or one of his nursery maids had caught onto him yet before he had climbed into the nearest moat. The water had not been deep, it had not even reached his knees, and when the young prince had knelt down to collect the first handfull of mud, not caring about his britches getting soaked, he, in his mind, had disappeared into his imaginary world of imaginary warfare. Just like any other child he had been unaware of the way that time had actually passed and when he heard Madame de Monbail’s voice calling out for him from quite a distance, he whimpered at the prospect of being forced to stop his game and considered to go into hiding until his governess would continue her search for him somewhere else, but as he got back up, his britches soaked and covered in dirt as much as his blouse was, Friedrich Wilhelm remembered his mother’s words. _“I will spank you from now on if you are disobedient and rude.”_ No, he certainly didn’t want to be spanked a second time! But his game... The tears that burned in his eyes were those of frustration once he realized in what a dilemma he was. “Your Grace, are you here?” He pulled up his nose and, once more, considered an attempt of flight. “Your Grace!” No, he didn’t want to disappoint _Maman_ again.

“Your Grace!” The relief she felt once she had gained a sight of Friedrich Wilhelm had been visible on Madame de Monbail’s face, and she merely shook her head once she saw in what condition the prince was in. Mud covered his legs as well as his blouse, not even his face or his hair had been spared. She sighed, he was definitely due for a bath. “Would Your Grace please get out of the water.” Friedrich Wilhelm, to her great surprise and relief, did neither scream nor rage like she had expected him to do, but merely climbed out of the moat and moved through the vegetable bed into her direction with slumped shoulders. Madame de Monbail was still far from fully recovered of the shock she had suffered when the boy had climbed out onto the window sill, but the boy had gotten a punishment for his behaviour - finally, that was - and as he was making his way over to her, Friedrich Wilhelm truly seemed to be nothing but the young boy that he was. The governess crouched down to be at an eye level with the prince, failing to prevent a silent gasp from leaving her when she saw the tears that were rolling down his face, leaving clear trails in the dry mud on his cheeks behind. She took both of the prince’s wrists into her hands once he had came to stand in front of her, his shoulders still slumped and his little chin nearly touching his chest where his head had tipped over, and she gasped again when she heard the hitch of his breath. “Is Your Grace injured?” Friedrich Wilhelm did not move or speak as his governess roamed her hands over his arms with an almost frightened speed, so as if she expected to find injuries on his limps. “Your Grace is not injured?” Madame de Monbail sighed in relief when he shook his head, just once, before he continued to look at his shoes rather than his governess. She titled her head as she took him in for a good long moment, it was hard to fathom that this boy, who usually spend his days throwing one raging fit after another, was currently standing in front of her and behaving like a _real_ child is supposed to. There were few times that she had ever seen a softer side of him, one that was not dominated by his anger, even after the years that she had spend in his service, and she would not lie: the young prince was quite adorable if he was not enraged. Madame de Monbail allowed herself to smile as she put a finger under Friedrich Wilhelm’s chin and tipped his head back, “Then what would be the reason as for why Your Grace is crying?”. The boy pulled up his nose and shifted from foot to foot, keeping his eyes casted downwards despite his chin being lifted, and the governess shook her head albeit the smile on her face had not faltered. She only then saw the misshapen heaps of mud that had been set up by the boy, and understood the reasoning behind his tears.

“Your Grace was playing?” Friedrich Wilhelm sniffled and nodded, answering with a low, “Yes.” “And your game is not finished yet?” Madame de Monbail let go of his chin and a sob build up in the prince’s chest as he replied with yet another “Yes.” It had been by her question that the governess had expected the prince to fall into another one of his fists, but Friedrich Wilhelm merely brought one small fist up to rub at one of his eyes, smudging the mud as he did so. Had the duchess’ punishment, which had not been an exceptionally hard one, been enough to reform him so greatly? She did not want to believe in it too blindly yet, as she knew very well how quickly the prince’s moods could change, but her intention told her that she may as well do so. In the three decades that she had watched over Brandenburg-Prussia’s heirs as a governess, Madame de Monbail had collected her fair share of experience and while Friedrich Wilhelm was by far the most complicated out of all the children, she had always sensed that his immense, downright frightening anger was build upon a base of something else. She had not mentioned it to Her Grace the Duchess, who loved her son unconditionally, had instead kept it to herself and was now faced witht he scene that confirmed her presumption. “Your Grace must not cry,” Madame de Monbail said, taking Friedrich Wilhelm’s face into her hands, “Your Grace will be allowed to come back after lunch.” “Really?” The young prince’s eyes lit up and seeked his governess’ gaze for the first time - was she being honest? He usually wasn’t allowed out after lunch due to the “horrible behaviour” that he would turn out, as his governess always titled it, so the prospect of not having to abandon his game was an utterly new one to him. “If you will behave you will be allowed to, Your Grace,” Madame de Monbail spoke with a gently scolding tone, raising from her crounching postion, and it was yet another surprise for her when Friedrich Wilhelm reached out and enclosed two of her fingers with his small, chubby hand of his while he whispered a barely audible, “I’ll behave.” _Her Grace truly should have spanked him earlier_, the governess thought, smiled and petted the top of the prince’s head with her free hand. Friedrich Wilhelm continued to hold onto Madame de Monbail’s fingers as they walked out of the kitchen garden and back to the palace, sniffling every now and then. “Now, Your Grace,” she gently said, stroking the fingers that were holding onto hers with her thumb, “there is no reason for you to cry.” “I’m sorry.” Madame de Monbail stopped in her tracks, leaned down and lifted the dirtied prince into her arms, resting him on her hip. “Crying is nothing Your Grace ought to apologize for.” His obvious distress was not the only reason why the governess decided to carry him inside - he could easily ruin the expensive carpets with his muddied shoes.

Madame de Monbail carried the prince to his room mostly in silence, as the boy had not answered to her attempts of starting a conversation, though she did lower her head and whispered something into his ear as they passed a group of courtiers on the grand escalier who made no secret of how glad they were that the boy had gotten a punishment as Her Grace the Duchess was not near to witness their snarls. She knew that she was not merely imagining Friedrich Wilhelm’s fingers grasping at her dress and she found herself shaking her head in disbelief at the change in his entire demeanor, the governess could not remember the last time the boy had allowed her to get so close to him. Friedrich Wilhelm kept holding onto her dress even as Madame de Monbail had passed through the door of the prince’s wing, his cheeks burning brightly under the dried layer of mud. He had heard them talking, about _how his chubby backside would’ve deserved a meeting with the belt instead_ and _how disappointed they would be if their children would be as much of a curse as he was_, his vision blurring when he remembered that Maman was disappointed, too... Friedrich Wilhelm was pulled out of his consuming thoughts which he failed to get a grip on as he, nevertheless, was no more that a five-year-old, when his governess adressed the two nursery maids which were assigned to the prince’s care. “His Grace needs to be washed and redressed before he may attend to his lunch,” Madame de Monbail said, her voice having once more laced with the ordering and no-nonsense tone that the prince was addressed with, too, most of the time. “Do not bath him, he shall be bathed tonight. Dress His Grace in clothes that are not his finest as he will be allowed more time outside if he should behave and one ruined set of attire is enough for one day.” Friedrich Wilhelm was put back onto his feet, gently pushed into the direction of the maids with a hand on his back and when he turned around, his governess was already in the process of leaving in order to change her own attire, which had gotten filthy while she had carried him.

The two nursery maids exchanged, for Friedrich Wilhelm, unreadable looks as they decided whose turn it would be to go first. The young women knew very well how hard the prince could hit with his fists and kick with his feet. One of them eventually decided to go forth while the other left to a basin and washing cloths, hesitating before she reached out to put a hand onto the child’s shoulder. “Your Grace?” “Yes?” “Would you please get onto the stool?” Her eyebrows shot up when Friedrich Wilhelm nodded, wiped at his nose with the back of his hand and indeed climbed onto the wooden stool that served the purpose of getting him dressed and washed at a comforable height. “Thank you, Your Grace,” the maid’s words were accompanied by what would have been described as a gasp as she moved in front of him and began to opent he buttons of his waistcoat, taking it of and dumbing it in the basket she had placed on the stood beforehand before she tugged the blouse out from where it was kept in place by the waitsband of his britches and unbuttoned it, too. “You are being very compliant today, Your Grace,” the nursery maid said, and while Friedrich Wilhelm had, at first, been afraid that she meant it in the same teasing way that those courtiers had talked, his fear was casted aside when he raised his gaze and saw the maid’s honest smile. He blushed and looked back down, feeling further heat rise into his face as she laughed. Kind and low, and in no way teasing. “Would you please raise your arms, Your Grace?” Friedrich Wilhelm obeyed, of course he did. No nursing maid had ever smiled at him, or if they had, he could not remember it, and he was rewarded with another smile as he raised his arms and allowed the young woman to swiftly pull his blouse off. “Where did Your Grace get so dirty?” “The moat.” “The moat? What was Your Grace doing in the moat? Did Your Grace fall in?” He giggled at her question and shook his head full of curls, “No,” he drawled out, “I _played_ in it! I didn’t fall!” “Of course Your Grace was playing,” the nursery maid answered with another laugh of her, and they did not sobered as the second maid appeared again, carrying quite a large basin filled with water and bathing oil. When she looked at her sister-in-service she seemed to be just as dumbstruck as dumstruck as the younger woman had been and since they seemed to understand each other without words, one look was enough. Friedrich Wilhelm’s lower garnments were pulled down next, the mud-covered britches and socks joining his blouse and waistcoat in the basket. The younger one of the nursery maids, the one that had undressed him, then reached into the basin for the cloth. Friedrich Wilhelm merely closed his eyes as his face was washed, earning him a praise for staying so perfectly still that made him beam with a boyish smile.

Madame de Monbail returned just as Friedrich Wilhelm was being dressed again, and he looked at the floor when his governess asked how he had behaved so far. “His Grace appears to be at his best today, Madame.” “Is he?” “Yes, Madam, it is a great surprise. He has not argued and neither has he put up a struggle.” “Very good.” “Will you tell _Maman?_” The governess stroked his then clean cheek once, “Be assured that I will, Your Grace. Good behaviour must be rewarded as much as bad behaviour must be punished, latter which you, and your backside, already are aware of.” The young prince did not know how much of an endearing sight it was that his hand shot behind him to shield his behind without being really aware of doing it, “He is being such a sweetheart today, I never would have believed it if someone would have told me” he believed to hear one of the nursery maid whisper to the other. They had never said that before, he had only ever heard them pleading for him to calm down or complaining about the hardship of having to care for him... “Come along then, Your Grace. Lunch has already been served.” Friedrich Wilhelm jumped off the stool and smiled at the two nursery maids before he hurried to reach his governess’ side. Lunch, as opposed to breakfast, had gone by without any further incident. The young prince of Prussia had ate his meal in silence, for which he was praised by Madame de Monbail, and as his governess had stated that he would be allowed to go into the gardens again before he had even finished eating, he had felt the bubbling of excitement in his stomach. He was allowed to go! As he was but a child he could not have known who aflame the rumours at court had already gotten in the relatively short course of his attitude change - the silence that reigned in the wing that housed his room could not have been missed, and the talking of the nursery maids combined with the reports of Her Grace’s act did the rest. While some still stated that Friedrich Wilhelm was far too gone for change, others argued in his favor as he, after all, was but a five-year-old boy. He was send on his way by his governess reminding him to not stray too far from the palace, not needing to be told twice before he took to running through the seemingly endlessly long corridors of the palace his parents had chosen for him to grow up in, trying to ignore the groups of courtiers that he passed by. Friedrich Wilhelm’s enthusiasm, however, was crushed when he skipped down the marble staircase and heard laughter before he had even reached the kitchen garden, and he swallowed when he saw how three boys, all older than him, were currently throwing mud at each other. _“Maman! Maman!” He had never been so scared as one of the boys had grabbed him from behind, had lifted him off his feet and had thrown him into the moat for the other two boys to pin him down, his head fully submerged under the water. He had been able to hear them laughing even through the rushing of the water, had stemmed his short arms into the muddy ground to be able to raise his head. “Maman! Ma-Maman!” “Look, he’s crying for his mother,” one of the boys had said, the other two joining him and Friedrich Wilhelm had managed one more cry for his mother before he had been pushed back under water. When Madame de Monbail had scolded him later on for turning up as soaked and mud-covered as he was, he had yelled at her and had exclaimed that he was allowed to do whatever he wanted. That the older boys had treatened him to do it again if he should tell anyone, no one had ever found out._

The young prince of Prussia swallowed hard and even though he did not know where to go, he turned on his heels and ran, for the second time that day, as fast as his short legs could only carry him until he was back inside the palace. His eyes were burning, and not from the exertion that his run had demanded from him. He wanted his _Maman_, and Friedrich Wilhelm sniffled quietly as he walked through the ground floor corridor. There were many salons in the palace and as far as he knew, Maman could be in any one of them. How was he supposed to find her? He sniffled again and rubbed at his eyes while his legs kept him moving, and he failed to hide a strangled yelp when there suddenly stood someone in his path. “Are you lost, Your Grace?” Friedrich Wilhelm’s eyes grew wide when the guard went down onto one knee in front of him, he had always been interested anything regarding the military and weapons and his father’s guards where what he looked up to the most in that regard. “Yes,” he answered with his breath hitching, “I - I don’t think that I can find _Maman_.” The guard nodded once, “Her Grace is currently staying in the salon on the second floor, Your Grace. Shall I accompany you?” The young prince nodded, too, and when he reached out to take the hand that the guard offered him, Friedrich Wilhelm was sure that he could hear murmuring exploding where a small group of courtiers stood and conversed behind raised fans. He was, once again, the most popular topic of conversation at his parent’s court. The guard kept a secure hold on the prince’s hand, almost as if he was the one scared of Friedrich Wilhelm getting lost, as they walked through the wide corridor en route for the grande escalier. “Are you sure that my _Maman_ is there?”, the boy asked, so low that the guard almost did not catch it. “I am certain, Your Grace. If I am mistaken I will help you to find Her Grace.” Friedrich Wilhelm nodded and looked up at the man in shining and rattling armor, oh how he wished to be grown and able to wear one himself! He kept his fingers firmly wrapped around two of the guard’s gloved fingers as he was lead up the staircase and in o the second floor of the palace, still sniffling every now and then as the tears in his eyes simply would not disappear. His mind, which, after all, was the one of a five-year-old, could not fathom as for why he felt ready to give in to the tears at any moment. He had surely cried more on that day that he had in the past few months. “We are almost there, Your Grace,” the guard answered to of Friedrich Wilhelm’s more pitiful sniffled as they walked around yet another corner, the courtiers that they passed almost breaking their necks in order to get a look at the notorious electoral prince of Brandenburg-Prussia.

The guard’s words had, as it turned out, been true. They did not walk for another minute until they came to a halt in front of the gilded door of the salon, and Friedrich Wilhelm let go of of the guard’s fingers he had been holding on as the door was pushed open. He involuntarily winced when the first wave of the perfume-filled air hit him - he never liked it, it made him sick, but when he spotted his mother sitting at the large, round gaming table in the middle of the room, young Friedrich Wilhelm did not think twice before he ran. “_Maman_, _Maman!_” A murmur went through the grape of courtiers that had collected around the duchess and the table she had initiated a game of cards at as the prince dashed through the room. “_Maman!_” Sophie Charlotte barely managed to look up from the deck in her hands before her son jumped onto her lap and buried his face in her chest, and she blindly set the cards down onto the table to be able to close her arms around the boy. “_Que fais-tu ici_,_ mon petit?_” “_Je vous ai manqué_,_ Maman_.” It was no lie: he had missed her, and Friedrich Wilhelm snuggled closer to her as she kissed his crown of curls. Sophie Charlotte’s entourage was in awe, some women exclaiming how precious he was while others shared their wonder about the change of his nature, but the duchess paid them no mind as she, for the moment at least, fixed her entire attention to her son who, to her increasing worry, was trembling a bit. Her voice dropped lower as she lowered her head to speak into Friedrich Wilhelm’s ear, “_Calme-toi_, _mon cœr_.” “I’m sorry that I disappointed you, _Maman_.” “Hush now, my love. Do not worry about it any longer, for I have forgiven you.” “And _Papá?_” The boy swallowed as his Maman took his face into her hands, her soft thumbs gently stroking his cheeks, “He will speak to you tonight, _mon petit_. Do not worry about it for now. _Comprenez-vous_?” “_Oui Maman_.” Another kiss was pressed into Friedrich Wilhelm’s hair before Sophie Charlotte picked her deck back up, answering to the praises about how well-behaved her son was with a smile and a nod of her head. The young prince of Brandenburg-Prussia had stayed close to the duchess for the remainder of the afternoon, had sat astrode on her lap, his cheek leaned against as his _Maman’s_ chest as she and the other seated had continued their game. He had tried to ignore the heavy, uncomfortable air... which, after a while, had turned out not as bad as he had remembered it. No one had been making comments about him then, no one had cursed at his behaviour and no one had voiced out their doubts about how a mother could ever love a child like him. Lulled by the sound of Sophie Charlotte’s beating heart as well as her laughter and softly spoken words, Friedrich Wilhelm had slipped into Morpheus’ arms for a slumber which he had not been able to linger in for long.

He was woken from his sleep when Sophie Charlotte shook him gently, and one fist of his almost immediately went up to rub at his eyes as he stemmed himself into a more upright position with a hand to his mother’s chest. “Hm?” “_Te voilá_, _mon petit général_,” Sophie Charlotte greeted him, carding her fingers through her son’s curls. Her heart threatened to burst from the love she felt for this small, tired-looking boy in her lap, though it was not the only reason as for why her chest was feeling painfully tight. It seemed as if her prayers had finally been heard, that the trouble was no longer overpowering her sweet little boy. God knew how much she had suffered when she had heard his furious screams and had been told, almost daily, that he had been an absolute nuisance once again, when she had seen how his eyes had been filled tears as his face stood in a dark red - much like it had this morning, when she he had turned around and had ran back after having heard her son’s governess scream. Oh, Sophie Charlotte had feared for the worst as she had gathered her dress up and had ran, easily risking a fall, considering how high her heels and how slippery the polished wooden floor was, and how her heart had ached when she had been faced with the nightmare like scene of her beloved Friedrich Wilhelm balancing out on the window sill. _“I will jump!”_, her son had screamed and even though his face had been averted from her gaze, Sophie Charlotte had known that it had been colored a dark red, _“I will unless you give me back my breakfast! You are supposed to obey me! Me!”_. The duchess barely managed to surpress a shudder, by the good Lord, she would not have been surprised if the boy on the window ledge would have turned out to be a demon after all. It was hard to fathom, really, that the boy who was looking up at her by then, with heavy eyelids and a slightly blushed face, was the same one that caused the entire court so much grief. It was frightening and heartbreaking, as there must have been a reason that she, as his mother, failed to bring to light. Sophie Charlotte still did not know what caused her son’s horrific outbreaks, but she would be damned if she would not try to find it out - even if it meant that she would indeed need to put him over her knee and spank his backside every single day. She would find out and she would straighten it out... because there was no way on earth that she would lose her precious Fritz, this sweet boy, to the world of anger and hate.

“Are you tired, _mon petit?_” Friedrich Wilhelm made another mewling sound, Sophie Charlotte’s question had been a most unnecessary one. Of course the boy would be tired, it had been a hard day for him. She chuckled and kissed his forehead, resuming to petting his curls, “Madame de Monbail told me that you went out to play in the gardens.” He merely shrugged and leaned his head into her touch, a silent plead for more, to which the duchess answered with a warm chuckle as she snapped her fingers, calling a servant to her side. “Bring something to drink for him.” “Yes, Your Grace.” “_Maman?_” “_Oui_, _mon petit_.” “Can I... talk to _Papá_ now?” She sighed, still carding her fingers through her son’s ginger-colored curls. “_Non_, _mon cœr_, you cannot do so. _Papá_ is working.” “Oh...” “I do promise that you will be able to talk to him tonight, my love. Do not worry.” Sophie Charlotte shook her head, just once, when she saw how his little shoulders slumped. It was no surprise, the boy adored his father, and she was sure that he was tearing himself up in his mind at the prospect of his father being disappointed with him - she did not have the heart to tell her son that her husband was disappointed, but more importantly, very angry. She had never seen her husband’s mood shift so quickly as when she had visited him in his study to report what had happened before he would hear it from his valet, and she also did not have the heart to tell her beloved son that he would be facing another spanking in the evening. Albeit the boy that had climbed out of the window and had insulted and hit her had deserved it, the sweetheart in her lap did not. The servant did not take long until he was back at the duchess’ side, bowing as he offered the glass he carried on a tray, and Sophie Charlotte dismissed him with a nod after she had reached for the glass and had passed it to Friedrich Wilhelm. “_Bois-le_, _mon petit_.” She kept a hand on her son’s back as the boy held onto the glass with both hands and eagerly drank the thinned-down beer, merely looking up and nodding her head at the praises that came from her entourage and the other courtiers. They were hypocrites and untrustworthy, the whole bunch of them; eager to win her favor as a duchess by praising the boy they had cursed and condemned a day ago. The glass was only given back to her when it had been emptied and Friedrich Wilhelm nestled back against her chest, his curls tickling the duchess under her chin. She pressed a kiss into his hair before she tried to catch up with the conversation that had proceeded while she had paid unshared attention her son, joining in while running her hand up and down Friedrich Wilhelm’s back.

Sophie Charlotte kept her son in her lap until Madame de Monbail appeared in the salon to come and fetch the young prince for his bath - one thing that Friedrich Wilhelm never argued about. Inexplicably the boy loved being bathed while other children of his age detested it, and the duchess kissed his forehead before he helped her son off her lap and gave her over to the governess. “My, Your Grace, you are being an exceptionally good boy,” Madame de Monbail said as he lifted Friedrich Wilhelm into the bathtub that had been set up in the prince’s chamber beforehand; undressing him had gone by without any incidents and the governess knew that her words had the wished effect when she was gifted with a tired, but honest child’s smile. She sat down on the stool beside the tub, watching how Friedrich Wilhelm splashed in the water. What a child he was, the elderly woman thought, shaking her head as she reached for the cloth she would use to wash him. “Would Your Grace sit up a bit more?” Friedrich Wilhelm obeyed and stilled his splashing at the same time, allowing his governess to wash his face, his neck and then his arms. “Your Grace is being exceptionally good,” Madame de Monbail repeated as she washed the rest of his body, noticing, in surprise, how the boy seemed to be a bit abashed by her praises, as the color on his face was not only due to the warm water, and she filled the cup that she would use to wash his hair as she spoke again. “It will be so much easier for both me and Your Grace if Your Grace will only continue to behave so exemplary.” “_Maman_ and _Papá_...” Madame de Monbail smiled and tipped Friedrich Wilhelm’s head back to ensure that no bathing water would run into his eyes as he wetted his hair, “I will report your behaviour to them, Your Grace. Be assured that they will know that you are behaving exceptionally good.” “Okay,” the boy replied with a shy smile of himself, creating small waves in the tub with his hand. Friedrich Wilhelm stayed still as the governess massaged a bit of cleansing oil into his hair and left it one for a few moments before washing it out one final time, putting the cup aside and wringing the cloth out, thus signaling that the bath was over. The boy did not need to be told to stand up, he did so on his own accord, for which he was praised by his governess yet again. It was very well possible that he was praised in a single day more than in the past five years of his life. Friedrich Wilhelm was dried off, dressed into his nightdress and his hair combed before he was declared ready to have his dinner served. The prince of Brandenburg-Prussia and his governess sat down at the table of the prince’s chamber, which was set up with two plates, one was stacked with baked treats while the one with carried various fruits, and a pitcher of milk. Friedrich Wilhelm finished one baked treat and about a handful of grapes before he declared that he was full.

The table was cleared, the nursery maids wished “His Grace a restful night” and retreated to their rooms and Madame de Monbail helped Friedrich Wilhelm onto his bed and passed him the stuffed animal he always slept with before she, too, left him for the evening. She had not tucked him in, something that had confused the young prince as he could not have known that she had been ordered not to do it. Friedrich Wilhelm sat in the middle of his quite large bed, holding his stuffed horse loosely in his lap and toying with its mane, though he did not stay alone for too long. Whether a minute or ten had passed before the door of his room was opened, the boy did not know, and his eyes widened when he saw his father standing on the door swell. “_Papá!_” He raised onto his knees and was ready to climb off the bed to greet him with a hug, but was taken aback and sank back down into the sitting position when Friedrich merely nodded sharply in acknowledgement of his son’s greeting to him. “_Papá_...” Friedrich did not speak as he closed the door behind him before he slowly, almost dangerously calm so, walked over towards his son’s bed, the sound of his heels on the wooden floor loud in the otherwise quiet room. Friedrich Wilhelm shrunk a bit into himself as his father build himself up in front of him, his arms held behind his back and looking down at the boy with slightly narrowed eye and an, for Friedrich Wilhelm, unreadable expression on his face. A few seconds passed before the duke of Brandenburg-Prussia first spoke. “Your mother told me what you did during your breakfast this morning, Friedrich Wilhelm.” The young prince swallowed hard and tightened the hold on his stuffed animal a bit more, averting his gaze away from his father’s burning one. “Answer to me!” The duke had not yelled, but had risen his voice enough for it to boom through the room and make his son flinch. “I - I’m sorry _Papá_...”, the boy whispered, the first tear already rolling down his face. His _Papá_ had never been so obviously angry with him. Friedrich stared down at his son for a few long moments, fidgeting his fingers behind his back. To say that he was mad would have been an understatement if there could ever be one, he was absolutely furious. He had a hard time believing that it had truly taken place, that the child had threatened to end its own life - _a child, for God’s sake!_ \- for something so trivial as breakfast. When Sophie Charlotte had practically bursted into his study earlier that day Friedrich had nearly been washed away by a wave of dread - his wife had been crying and his inital fear had been that something had happened to their son, which it had but, thankfully, not in the way that the duke of Brandenburg-Prussia had feared it. He had held his wife in an embrace as she, with a lot of sobbing, had told him what had taken place on the floor above him and Friedrich, at first, had been unable to believe her. Friedrich Wilhelm having climbed out of a third-floor-window and threatening to jump, his son beating his mother and calling her names before eventually ending up over his mother’s knee with his breeches hunched around his ankles... it had all been too much for the duke to believe right away. While he had comforted his wife, however, Friedrich had realized that he had made mistakes that were in dire need for repair, a realization that he shared with Sophie Charlotte.

He had looked away for too long, he had allowed his son to turn his stubborn and often furious head out for far, far too long. If he would have done the same thing with his father he would not have been able to sit down for a fornite, Friedrich Wilhelm would have made sure of that. Not that Friedrich strived to make the same mistakes as his own father had, the unjust abuse that he had suffered under as a child was, as his dear wife had named it, one of the reasons why he yet had to form an honest bond with his own and only son. He had tried, oh the Lord knew that he had tried it over the years, he simply... did not know how. Friedrich Wilhelm was far from an easy child, showing an interest in the military and warfare that could be seen as worrisome for a future duke and Friedrich found himself wishing for another heir - a thought that frightened him, as it was the exact thought that had pushed his father into hating his crippled son so much he wanted to exclude him from succession. It was probably due to his mother that Friedrich had survived, anyway, and as he looked down at his silently crying and trembling son, he found leastways some of his anger disappearing. No, he did not want to be like his father, but it was time for him to act like one. The duke of Brandenburg-Prussia sighed almost inaudibly as he loosened the strain from his shoulders and sat down on the edge of the bed, putting what he had brought with him beside him so it was covered from sight by his leg before he turned towards his son, who was still sitting in the middle of the bed. “Come here, Friedrich.” “_Papá_...” “I will not tell you a second time.” Friedrich would have lied if he would have stated to have ignored the unknown and uncomfortable feeling in his chest as he watched how the young boy raised onto his knees and shuffled until he was able to lift him into his lap. Nothing but a child. He was ashamed to admit that it felt strangely new to stroke his son’s unusually-colored and damp curls as Friedrich Wilhelm looked up at him with wide, tear-filled eyes. “You frightened your mother greatly, my son.” The boy pulled up his nose and nodded, “I know _Papá_.” Friedrich tilted his head as he watched his heir, he, of course, had also been informed of how much his behaviour had improved since Sophie Charlotte had spanked him and even though he had always believed that he would be able to raise his son without having to raise his hand in front of him, he, after a conversation with his first valet, had came to the conclusion that if it was done to no extreme, like his father had done it, it was a punishment that could be imposed onto a child without worry. _“’Tis something that can certainly help them,”_ his valet had said when Friedrich had consulted him earlier, _“the trashing will hurt, ‘tis the intention, but once they are being held and assured that they are forgiven, they understand. Children are quick thinkers, they merely need to be told it in a straight and no-nonsense way, Your Grace.” _Sophie Charlotte had told him that she had already done the talking with their son and as it was late, and the boy already looked very well ready for sleep, Friedrich decided to skip the most of the scolding that he had prepared for his unruly heir.

He took his son’s chin into one hand, thus forcing him to look up and meet his gaze, using his free hand to stroke a damp curl off Friedrich Wilhelm’s forehead. “Can you tell my what your mother did to you after you tried to run away?” “She beat me!”, the prince retorted with quite the snap lacing his voice, shrinking into himself again, however, when his father raised an eyebrow. “Did she beat you, son?” “Yes... and I’m still not allowed to beat anyone.” The duke had to press his lips together for a second to stop himself from smiling - it was adorable to see him act like a normal child. “Your mother did not beat you, Friedrich.” “But _Maman_ did...” “She did not hit you with her fists, did she? Like you hit her with your fists?” His son shook his head, his shoulders slumping. Friedrich Wilhelm already seemed to be sorry, but it was his duty as a father to teach him the lesson a second time to assure that it would stick. “No, she did not,” Friedrich tiled his son’s head back again, once more looking him into his tear-filled eyes. “Your mother spanked you and I intend to do the same.” He let go of Friedrich Wilhelm’s face just as the boy’s eyes grew wide in fear and if his parental instinct of wrapping an arm around him would not have kicked in, his son would have fallen of his lap due to the way that he had tried to scramble away. “_Papá_ no, please...” “Listen to me, Friedrich. I will spank you and it will hurt, but you will be forgiven afterwards.” “But...” “Hush.” Friedrich Wilhelm obeyed, and the duke of Brandeburg-Prussia did not waste any more time before he used the hold he had on his son’s waist to turn him around and over his left thigh. He heard the boy crying from being in the position alone, and Friedrich hardened his heart as he flipped Friedrich Wilhelm’s nightdress up to reveal his backside. Sophie Charlotte had barely left any marks behind, if all the otherwise pale skin of the boy’s backside was a bit reddened, and it ached Friedrich to know that it would stand in a bolder color once his hand would come to a rest again, and it was his initial anger and fear that made it possible for him to even continue from then. He much rather would have liked to hold his son in his arms, but when he remembered how frighteningly close he had came to no longer being able to do so he raised his hand well above his hand and brought it down onto Friedrich Wilhelm’s backside with a resounding smack.

Friedrich’s hand was large enough to cover both of his son’s backside cheeks, and the boy recognized the difference when being spanked by his mother or his father in an instant. While his father hit him just as hard as his mother had, his hits hurt more. Way more. “Owww _Papá_!”, he thus cried out at the third smack that way laid onto him, kicking his legs like he had done it when his mother had spanked him but such behaviour over his father’s knee was rewarded with nothing but an even harder hit. “Stop kicking, Friedrich.” The duke must have realized that it was futile and ridiculous to make such an order to a five-year-old, so he pulled him closer against his stomach and pinned his right leg over both of the boy’s before he steadily increased the force of his hand. Friedrich Wilhelm had already been close to the point of crying when his father had bared his backside, and it did not take long until the young prince was reduced to nothing but tears and sobs. Friedrich kept a careful eye on the color that he was drawing into the skin of his son’s backside cheeks, he wanted to teach him a serious lesson, yes, but he did not want to abuse him like his father had done it. A few good minutes passed in which the room was filled with nothing but the sharp sound of the duke’s hand connecting with the prince’s backside and Friedrich Wilhelm’s sobs. The boy did not plead for his father to stop, though the way he called out for him “_Papá_ \- ow! - _Papá!_” almost succeeded at tearing Friedrich’s heart apart. “What you did was very dangerous, very stupid and you scared me and your mother greatly, do you understand?”, he said, accentuating his words with well-placed hits, having to swallow at the way Friedrich Wilhelm bucked, cried out and sobbed. His son was still clutching his stuffed animal and my God, if that was not a heartbreaking sight on its own. He allowed his hand to fall two more times before he stilled it, resting it on the reddened and hot-to-the-touch skin in front of him. “You are doing so well, Friedrich, I am so proud of you.” The boy merely cried, his sobs of such a great force that they shook his small body, and the duke removed the hold he had on Friedrich Wilhelm’s waist to rub his back. “So proud.” “_Pa-Papá_...” “I know, son, I know.” “I’m s-sorry _Pa-pá_.” Friedrich had needed to close his eyes and collect the mental strength that he had left before he had been able to slowly reach for what he had positioned on the bed beside him. “Do you know how old you are, son?” The boy coughed and sobbed yet again prior to answering, “F-F-Five?” “Very good, yes.” _You could have lost him up there_. He was able to see how his son’s body went rigid when he tapped the short cane against Friedrich Wilhelm’s upturned backside, “You will get five strokes with the cane and I want you to remember that I will tripple the amount if you ever,” he accentuated his words with a harder tap, “decided to do risk your life again. Do you understand me, son?” The boy merely continued to sob, but Friedrich decided that he would not wait for an answer. He wanted to bring it over with.

_Thwick_, _snick_, _whack_. Three perfectly parallel and dark red lines bloomed on the prince’s already red backside and the duke had been ready to lay down the last two hits if it had not been for the _scream_ the boy let out. Friedrich Wilhelm bucked so hard that he almost pushed himself off his father’s lap as he _screamed_ in pain, his sobbing growing so loud that Friedrich feared it might be heard through the entire palace - but more urgently, he had never heard a more heartbreaking thing. He threw the cane onto the floor, disgusted with himself for having picked it up in the first place. His breath hitched when he hurried to pull his hysterical son into his arms. “I am so sorry, son, I am so sorry.” Friedrich clenched his jaws together so hard it would not have been a wonder if his teeth would have shattered and squeezed his eyes shut as he rocked Friedrich Wilhelm, who did not appear to have noticed that the punishment had since stopped. “I am so sorry,” he repeated over and over again, not stopping his rocking motion as he drove one hand into his son’s damp hair and guided it to his chest. “You are forgiven, Friedrich, oh you are forgiven.” Friedrich felt his own eyes beginning to fill with burning tears as his words seemed to fail at reaching the crying child in his arms. He had been too harsh. Friedrich Wilhelm’s mind was overwhelmed with pain, his backside burned terribly and he could not do anything but cry it out. The young prince felt his father’s hand in his hair, stroking gentle circles there and while a small part of him was terrified, he, all in all, knew that he must not fear him._ “Listen to me, Friedrich. I will spank you and it will hurt, but you will be forgiven afterwards.”_ “_Pa-apá_...” The sound that escaped the duke of Brandenburg-Prussia at the first reaction from the boy could not have been described at anything but a choked up sob, “Oh, my son,” he whispered and pressed a lingering kiss into the dampened curls as he stood, still rocking him. “My son...” “_Papá_,” was still the only thing that Friedrich Wilhelm sobbed but, God be praised, it appeared that he was starting to calm down just a little. The intensity that he had cried with had began to worry his father, who leaned his cheek onto his head as he moved over to stand in front of the window, humming a soft tune which had always calmed him as a child. The sun had since began to set, bathing the gardens down below as well as the room into a warm, orange light. Friedrich had no idea, nor did he care about how long he stood at the window but gazing down at his son, who had his face hidden in his chest while the hand that was not clutching his stuffed horse was holding onto a handfull of his blouse, until Friedrich Wilhelm’s sobs began to ebb down and be replaced with hitching of his breaths instead. His crippled shoulder was beginning to hurt from the strain of carrying the boy, but God knew that he would not have dared to let go of him.

“_P-Papá?_” The duke of Brandenburg-Prussia’s eyes fluttered close as a thin silver streak appeared on his cheek and he pressed a kiss into his son’s hair, his lips lingering. “Yes, my love?” “A-Are you s-still a-angry with me-e?” He clicked his tongue and kissed him again, his son’s sobbing hurting him greater than he had believed it to ever be able to do. “No, no I am not.” “A-And disa-disapo-ointed?” “No.” Friedrich’s voice dropped to no higher than a whisper, “You are forgiven, my son, but I beg you to never do something so risky ever again. Please...” There were twin trails of tears on the duke’s face by the, but he did not care for them. “I love you, Friedrich. I love you more than anything in my life.” He felt Friedrich Wilhelm shifting in his arms, and a smile grew on his tear-streaked face when he saw how his son nestled comfortably against his chest, his swollen eyes opening less and less every time he blinked. “I love you too _Papá_,” the boy whispered, so low that his father easily could have missed it, his voice heavy and slurred with tiredness which was overcoming him fast and he thus missed the sob that escaped his father at his confession. “Sleep now, my son, sleep now,” Friedrich whispered back, though by the time he did so, Friedrich Wilhelm’s breathing had already evened out and he heaved his son a bit higher into his arms, wincing at the pain that shot through his shoulder. He did not want to put him down - he, as embarassing as it was, could not remember the last time that he had held him in his arms, but his shoulder would not be able to cope with the strain for much longer. The duke looked around, spotted the rocking chair that stood in front of the unlit fireplace and tried to move as slow and careful as he could, in order to not wake Friedrich Wilhelm, into its direction. He had began to hum under his breath by the time he lowered himself into it, and he placed his sleeping son onto his chest, securely closed his arms around him and rocked them both. Oh, how stupid he had been to have stayed away from the child for so long... Friedrich cursed himself as much as he cursed his father, he had tried so hard to act different than his father than he had turned blind to the fact that he was failing his son in an entirely different way - one that was much less harmful, but just as grievous as what had been done to him as a child. He wanted Friedrich Wilhelm to have a better childhood than his had been, and the duke’s silent crying wordlessly told how disappointed and shocked he was about his own behaviour towards the boy. Friedrich would not go so far as saying that he had ignored his son, but he felt another wave of shame wash over him as he could see how Friedrich Wilhelm’s eyes had seemed lost their glimmer when he had told him that he was not interested in hearing the boy’s babble about soldiers. What a poor excuse of a man he was! He closed his eyes and leaned his head back as he kept his hand cupped against his son’s small head, listening to the boy’s breathing that was hitching even in his sleep.

Friedrich’s eyes snapped open and he stilled the rocking motion when he heard the door being opened, though he did not need to look over his shoulder in order to know that it was his wife who had entered. Sophie Charlotte’s heart had raced in her chest ever since she had been told that her husband had disappeared behind the closed door of the prince’s chamber, and it had not calmed down as she had walked up and down the corridor, forced to listen to Friedrich Wilhelm’s cries which had steadily increased in volume. She had almost stormed in to stop her husband when a heart-rending cry, that had blended borders with a scream, had reached her, but she had needed to trust her husband to not go to far, and after said cry the boy had indeed seemed to calm down she had stayed outside for a bit longer. Whether she had liked it or not, she had needed to give father and son their moment together but Sophie Charlotte had longed to gather Friedrich Wilhelm into her arms again. It had been such a hard day for her son, and he was but a child that had gotten punished twice in a single day. While her heart had raced terribly during the endless minutes that she had spend on the corridor, it nearly stopped, sending a cold rush through her body when the first thing she was as she entered the room was not her husband rocking their child, but the discarded cane on the floor. “You did not...”, the duchess snarled, her voice breaking off when anger and fear gripped at her throat and hindered her from speaking. Friedrich opened his mouth to answer, but closed it without bringing anything out as he watched how his wife neared in on him with tears in her eyes and her mouth pressed into a firm line. “I...” The duke set on, but trailed off when Sophie Charlotte knelt down, not minding her dress, and lifted the hem of the sleeping boy’s nightdress. As if his bad consciousness had not been great enough as it was he felt it doubling in amount when his wife’s face fell, and he reached out for her with one hand. “Allow me to explain -” “He is a _child_,” she cut him off with yet another snarl, her eyes full with tears and disdain after they had taken in her son’s reddened backside that was being crossed with three, unmistakable dark red cane marks. “You told me countless of times how much you detest your own father for the manner that he treated you with and yet you did the same!” She shook her head, unable to fathom it, but when she stood back up and gestured for Friedrich to give their son to her, Sophie Charlotte stilled as she saw how her husband shook his head and tightened his arms even more around the boy.

“I had to,” her husband said in a barely audible whisper, looking up at her with wide, vulnerable eyes. “What if he would have slipped? If he would have fallen he...” Friedrich shook his head while twin tears escaped his then closed eyes, shaking it once more before he returned to hiding his face in Friedrich Wilhelm’s curls as good as possible, a sob treatening to escape him against his will. He had came so close to losing him. Sophie Charlotte swallowed hard, trying to decide what to do. To say that she was simply angry and disappointed in her husband to have resorted to caning their son, albeit with no more than three strikes, would have been an understatement - it was, however, most obvious that her husband was just as upset as he was. “He did not slip,” she said, laying a hand on Friedrich’s shoulder. “But he could have,” came another whisper that was accompanied by a suppressed sob, “he could have and we... could have lost him.” Sophie Charlotte closed her eyes, too, as she felt yet another flashback of the fear that had gripped at her heart when she had seen her beloved son out on the window ledge, and she sank down onto her knees without fully realizing it. Her hands held onto the armrest of the rocking chair on their own accord, thus preventing her from sacking down fully. “Yes, we could have lost him.” She heard her husband crying by then as she could not do anything but stare at her son that was sleeping all-so-peacefully on his father’s chest. His small face was turned towards her, his eyes appeared to be puffy and his eyelashes darkened from the tears that had caught in them. Their son looked even younger than he already was, with his stuffed animal firmly held even in his sleep and his thumb just grazing his lips. “Sophie.” She looked up to meet her husband’s gaze, both of their visions blurred. “I do know that I was harsh with him but... Sophie, we could have lost him like we lost Friedrich August and I... was so angry and scared that I had to...” Friedrich’s voice had almost died down at the end of his short speech and the duke of Brandenburg-Prussia leaned his face into the palm that then came up to cup his cheek. “We did not lose him and we will not lose him,” Sophie Charlotte whispered back, unsure whether it was her or her husband that needed to hear those words the most. “We will not.” “How was it possible for me to stay blind for so long?” Friedrich only broke from the eye contact he had held with his wife to gaze back down at his sleeping son, caressing the soft, still slightly damp curls. “For too long I have pushed him away... Sophie, how was I able to push him away?” The duchess’ gaze softened despite the tears in it as she looked at her husband, stroking the skin over his cheekbone with her thumb. “You never learned how to be with a child, it is not something you should blame yourself for. It is not too late for you to learn.” She leaned down to first kiss her son’s, then her husband’s forehead. “Will you bring him to bed? I dismissed Madame de Monbail for the evening.” Friedrich nodded, whispered a quick, “Of course, yes,” and stood from the rocking chair as Sophie Charlotte walked off after telling him that she would be awaiting him in his bedroom.

If the duke had lost himself sitting at Friedrich Wilhelm’s bedside, watching his young son sleep while murmuring apologies for his mistakes and taking another half an hour to appear in his bedroom, the duchess had not mentioned it.

_Fin._


End file.
